


but lover, you're the one to blame

by l_cloudy



Series: Astray [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Anal Sex, First Time, M/M, Rimming, Sex Pollen, Yuleporn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-16 10:12:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13051920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/l_cloudy/pseuds/l_cloudy
Summary: “Of course you don’t understand,” said Laurent, “I don’t require you tounderstand. I require you to come here and fuck me.”Since his arrival in Arles Damen had, calling on all his reserves of restraint and willpower, never allowed himself to fantasize about Laurent. Had he ever indulged, his mind would probably have conjured a scenario much like this one, and those exact words, in that exact vicious, breathy tone.(Book 1 AU. Damen doesn't leave. Sex happens.)





	but lover, you're the one to blame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sassafrasx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassafrasx/gifts).



> Hello dear Yulepal! I hope the holidays are going great :) Thank you so much for the amazing prompts!

“Go, then.”

Damen turned towards the door, dark wood finely carved, the knob overly ornate and polished to a shine. It would be unlocked, the hallway outside deserted. And after that, freedom.

Laurent laughed still resounded in his mind. It had been breathless, and made him sound younger – and wild, and shocked, and just as deranged as Damen had once assumed him to be.

His hand touched the doorknob.

“Wait,” said Laurent.

Damen turned, just in time to see a pink tongue dart out to wet his lips. Laurent’s eyes were fixed on a point slightly to the left of where Damen’s face was, his pupils very wide.

“Wait,” he said, again. And then. “You’ll ruin everything if you leave now.”

Damen waited for him to elaborate – the time of a heartbeat, then two, then ten. Laurent was still staring, swaying in place.

Damen cursed under his breath, walking over. He stopped a foot or so away from Laurent and, very slowly, raised one palm to his forehead.

Laurent shivered at the touch, both of his hands coming up to grasp Damen’s hand at the wrist, right over the cuff. It was much like that one time in the bath, except that Laurent’s burning stare was glazed over and he held on Damen’s arm as though it was the only thing keeping him from keeling over. In that regard it was not like the baths at all, then, but the comparison had lodged itself in his brain, the images replaying in his mind’s eye over and over. The sight of Laurent’s dark eyes from under his long lashes was enough to send his mind to places better left unexplored.

“You’re burning up,” said Damen.

“Really,” said Laurent. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Damen ignored him. “Can you even stand?”

Laurent shot him an absolutely venomous look. “That’s what I have you for, isn’t it?” And then, imperiously. “Walk me over to the bedroom. I’ll be damned if I do this on the carpet.”

Being drugged, it seemed, did not make Laurent any less talkative, although it certainly made his twisted reasoning harder to follow. Still, Damen did as bid, supremely annoyed at having to escort the addled Prince to his bed when he could already be on his way out of the palace.

Really, he should drop Laurent and run. But he didn’t, for some stupid reason he could not even explain.

“There,” he said, once they entered the bedroom. It was lit, sparsely, and the flickering lamps made the shadows dance all around them. “You go lay down, Your Highness. You’re sweating.”

“I’m drugged,” said Laurent, as if they hadn’t established this fact quite a while ago. His hands, warm and slippery with sweat, tightened around Damen’s forearm. “This is even worse than being drunk.”

“It’ll wear off,” repeated Damen, before catching himself. While he’d only experimented with the drug once, as a youth, he’d seen its effect often. It had never been like this; it was meant to ease coupling, not to incapacitate. Laurent must have been dosed with several times the normal amount, which meant…

“You need to call your physician,” Damen told the Prince. “Right now, before the fever gets any higher.”

Laurent, of course, shook his head and threw Damen the sort of look that made him know he had just said something supremely stupid. “I expect I will be summoned by the Council within hours.” He spoke quickly, his diction exaggeratedly precise. “The worst thing I could do is let them know I have been drugged.”

He let go of Damen’s arm and let himself fall down on the bedding. The coverlets were cream white, one shade off of the shirt he was still wearing, but Laurent’s face was flushed red. His breath came out in pants, and Damen knew his pulse must be beating like mad. He had heard of this condition.

“Depending on how much you’ve had,” Damen began, “your heart might burst. It takes hours to leave the body if nothing is done about it, and you are already overwhelmed. Your body can’t take this.”

Laurent propped himself up on one elbow. “You’d be surprised,” he said. “By how much my body can take. But I am going to do something about it.”

“Right,” said Damen. “I’ll get somebody to fetch your physician.” And then I will leave, he did not say.

“ _No_.”

Damen looked down at Laurent, laying down over the covers. He looked him up and down like he’d done once before, only that time Laurent had been naked and unaffected, staring back at him with plain disgust. This time he was dressed and undeniably aroused, his pale hair drenched with sweat.

He said, “Come over here.”

Damen recoiled.

“You can’t be serious,” he said. “You – you…”

“They brought you to my rooms with that pretext.” Laurent met his eyes evenly, spoke in a voice that was still remarkably calm. “That’s why my uncle and Kastor gave you to me, no? You can make yourself useful.”

“Listen to yourself.” Damen’s voice sounded to his own ears just as incredulous as he himself felt. “You had me flogged for touching you, and now…”

“I can promise I won’t have you flogged again,” said Laurent. “You saved my life, and I don’t have other estates to lose.”

He’d positioned himself in the middle of the bed and was in the process of kicking off the shoes from his feet. They were some sort of lined slippers of a rusty red, up to the ankle and laced very loosely. Damen stared at Laurent’s legs, and then at Laurent’s crotch. He tried not to imagine himself untying those laces, to free Laurent’s straining cock, cup it in the palm of his hand.

“I know you want to fuck me,” said Laurent, very evenly, which was just fine. He couldn't picture Laurent acting in any sort of sultry manner. If he ever did, he doubted Damen could survive it.

 “A big brute like you,” Laurent went on. “I’ll certainly feel it tomorrow. I will feel it in front of the Council when I’m talking to my uncle. You’ll see me wince with every step and you’ll know I let you put it in me, I let you rough me up, an Akielon savage.” It was Laurent’s turn to square him up and down, and he gave Damen a small self-satisfied smile that said he’d been found pleasing and Laurent congratulated himself on his good taste.

“You could leave marks, you know,” he said. “I’d let you. You will carry my scars for as long as you live, but I’ll let you put your mouth on me, and bite. I bruise very easily.”

Damen could believe that. He’d pictured bruises on Laurent’s skin before, while he had been towed around on a golden leash. He’d imagined a purple ring forming all around Laurent’s pretty white throat as Damen strangled him; and then he’d fall down to the ground, finally quiet. Now Laurent’s body was all pinked with fever and arousal, a deep lovely shade. Of course he wanted to mark him.

But he knew better than playing this game.

“No,” said Damen, low and final. He caught a glimpse of the way Laurent’s face fell, the disappointed frowns before he could smooth them over. As if he truly believed he was so irresistible that a man he’d had beaten half to death would play his game and roll around in his bed instead of seeking his freedom.

“No,” he said again for good measure. “You can deal with your cock by yourself, Your Highness. I’m leaving.”

“ _Wait_.”

Despite his better instinct, Damen turned. Laurent had sounded raw this time, needy and almost desperate. Genuine, even.

Damen, who told himself he should really know better, spared him one last glance from under furrowed brows. “I don’t understand,” he began. “What you need me for. Besides the fact that you don’t want me to escape. You can’t _enjoy_ the idea of being in bed with me, you – could just as well deal with this on your own.”

“No,” said Laurent. He looked as though he were admitting something terrible. “I can’t – I need. Somebody. Stay here.”

“You need somebody,” repeated Damen. “I don’t understand –”

“Of course you don’t understand,” said Laurent, clearly relishing the opportunity to insult Damen without baring himself any further. “I don’t require you to _understand_. I require you to come here and fuck me.”

Since his arrival in Arles Damen had, calling on all his reserves of restraint and willpower, never allowed himself to fantasize about Laurent. Had he ever indulged, his mind would probably have conjured a scenario much like this one, and those exact words, in that exact vicious, breathy tone. _Require_. He felt something tight in his stomach, a renewed pumping of blood in his veins.

Damen thought, _damn him_.

He let himself fall on the bed in one smooth motion, the sudden weight of his body making the mattress bounce. He found himself next to Laurent, so very close, their bodies almost touching. He could see the pearls of sweat on Laurent’s forehead, how very dark his eyes were, staring into Damen’s own.

“Please,” he said.

Laurent frowned. “What? Are you also addled?” He was so close. He felt Laurent’s breath brush over his face, warm and heavy.

“You require me to come here and fuck you,” repeated Damen. “Please.”

Laurent bristled, immediately turning his face up to stare at the ceiling. He had a lovely profile, made to be stamped on a coin. “You’re presumptuous. And overstepping yourself.”

“Give me time,” Damen heard himself say. He didn’t know where this was all coming from. He favoured laughter in the bedroom,  a kind of joyous, exuberant lovemaking that left no winner and no defeated. And yet now he said, “I could have you begging,” and watched as a flash of – something passed over Laurent’s face, quick as lighting. He wouldn’t have even noticed had he not been so close: the sudden rigidity of the jaw, a twitch at the corner of one eye.

“Since you think you’re so good at fucking, you can get on with it.”

Even drugged, Laurent’s pointed words had a sort of finicky prickliness; he threw them at Damen like knives.

“You can start by taking my clothes off. It is warm in here.”

The last time he’d taken Laurent’s clothes off, Laurent had been staring frostily from behind fronded lashes, every line of his body somehow conveying the impression that Damen’s hands were filthy and soiled. Now he gave Damen an expectant look as he lay bonelessly on the covers, and when Damen’s hands brushed bare skin over the collar he could have sworn he’d felt Laurent’s breath itch, just slightly.

Laurent was warm all over; his chest was flushed, too, and Damen found himself brushing his knuckles and the top of his fingers all over the silky skin as he worked the laces open. The shirt was light and easy to remove, and then Laurent was up on his elbows, naked to the waist, and Damen himself only clad in silks.

“Undress,” said Laurent, and so he did, standing up and shedding his scraps of clothes before he’d even fully realized. It was Laurent’s voice, all soft tones and cool arrogance, the power he wielded so casually.

Damen remembered: he’d been meaning to leave. He would’ve been halfway to the palace gates by now, but instead he was standing naked in the middle of Laurent’s bedroom, and Laurent was regarding him with raw hunger shining through fastidious, over-exaggerated appraisal.

“I don’t see how that is supposed to fit,” drawled Laurent, and Damen’s cock twitched against his thigh at the promise there – that maddening, mercurial Laurent would let Damen fuck him, that it was mere moments away.

“There’s oil in the drawer. Go fetch it.”

Laurent, he noted, had recovered quickly from his strange mood now that he’d gotten what he wanted. He went to the heavy dresser, polished wood carved in a rose motif, a slab of pale marble on top. Sure enough, there was a jar of oil in the first drawer; small, made of glass as exquisite as everything else in those rooms. It was sealed shut, the seal on the lid unbroken.

Damen turned around, a quip on his lips, and all the air left his lungs at the sight.

Laurent had, quite obviously, finished undressing. He’d taken off his thin trousers and whatever he’d been wearing underneath; and now he stood, gloriously naked, braced against the footboard of the bed.

“Are you…” He didn’t know what to say. He took in the clear lines of Laurent’s body, back arched and legs firmly opened shoulder-width. He could see the knobs of his spine, his flushed nape, fair skin all over.

“Waiting?” said Laurent. “Yes.”

He sounded just as if he’d been sitting at the high table in front of all of his courtiers, ready to criticize an entrée not quite of his liking. He did not turn his head. “Come over here.”

The sight of Laurent like that, as well as his voice, beckoned him over as firmly as a tug on that silly gold lash would have. Laurent’s body was just as well-made as he remembered, lithe and lightly muscled. Damen’s hand, quite of its own accord, went to brush the length of Laurent’s flank. He was trembling.

“What would you like?”

“Now you ask for orders?”

Laurent’s words made him bristle. Only in Vere, Damen thought, sourly, extending politeness to one’s bedmate would be seen as an admission of submission. He felt red-hot anger spark through him, as heady as lust. He thought back to Laurent’s words: _You could leave marks. I’d let you_. He brought his hands to circle Laurent’s waist, heard Laurent’s breath hitch.

“Like this?”

“Will you fucking _get on_ with it,” said Laurent. It was very like Laurent, he supposed, to expect to be served, even in this, that someone else should do all the work while he waited imperiously.

 _I’ll let you put your mouth on me, and bite_ , Laurent had said. He wouldn’t have minded putting his teeth on Laurent. Laurent’s arse was as perfect as the rest of his body, round and shaped by countless hours in the saddle. There were dimples on his lower back, and Damen wanted to trace the indentation with his tongue. He put his thumbs there, instead, and used the palms of his hands to spread Laurent’s cheeks, just a bit.

The room was very quiet. Damen could hear his own breathing, low and laboured over the rush of the blood in his ears. He could not hear any sound coming from Laurent at all.

Slowly, purposefully, he went to his knees on the soft carpet. Then he raised his head and licked a long wet stripe over the fluttering heat of Laurent’s hole.

Laurent made a strangled noise, some kind of aborted cry.

“Alright, there?” said Damen. He did not try at all to mask the amusement in his voice. Then he did it again; short, pointed swipes, aiming higher, away from where he was most wanted. He did indulge himself with a scrape of teeth along the edge of a supple buttock, quick and barely there.

“Is this some kind of barbarian practice?” Laurent asked, in a valiant attempt at his usual aloofness. “It’s filthy.”

“I can tell you hate it,” said Damen, before he could stop himself – he’d gotten caught up again, forgot where he was, who Laurent was. This was Vere. He had a slave collar on his neck, the man who owned him was drugged out of his mind, and there would still be faint traces of blood on the floors one room over. He shouldn’t lose himself like this.

Laurent’s body was warm under his hands; warmer still under his tongue, where he moved, just barely, every time Damen sucked a mark along a soft inner thigh or darted his tongue inside tight muscle. Laurent had hair between his legs that was the same colour as on his head and soft where it brushed against  Damen’s skin. His legs were trembling, his breath rushed, and yet Laurent had made no noises since the first time Damen had put his tongue on him.

When he slipped a finger alongside his tongue Laurent gave a very soft intake of breath and shifted minutely, knees buckling for a moment before he got himself under control. He was very tight; Damen thought back to the unopened jar of oil, still sealed where it rested on the carpet next to his knees, and then to Laurent’s haughty, icy manners, and the way he’d bent himself over the bed to brace himself for all that was to come.

He put his lips over Laurent’s hole and sucked, heartily, like he would on the pulse point of his pale neck. He lavished attention over heated flesh until his finger, wet and slippery, could fit in to the knuckle until Laurent’s gasps grew to audible and felt his legs shake more often than not. Damen was good at this; be man or woman, it pleased him to prepare his lovers thoroughly before he took them, and fucking a man open with his tongue was more seemly for the Prince in Akielos than sucking cock like a kowtowing slave. Laurent, neither dazzling woman nor sculpted warrior, was unlike any free lover he’d ever had, but Damen found he was enjoying his body, the flat muscles hidden under soft, pampered skin.

His knees had started to tingle faintly when a pointed lick with the flat of his tongue made Laurent groan. Immediately he stilled; above him, so did Laurent.

“As much –” Laurent’s voice was, predictably and uncharacteristically, unsteady. He paused.

“As much as I enjoy having you service me,” said Laurent. “This is not what I asked of you.”

Damen had straightened himself up and now walked around to the side of the bed, so that he could look Laurent in the face. Laurent’s hair clung to his forehead, high colour on his check, eyes still unnaturally wide. He looked debauched. He was slumped over the footboard, knuckles grasping the heavy wood like it was all that kept him standing. The sight of his cock, full with blood, had Damen refrain from licking his lips.

“What was it that you asked of me?” He heard his own voice say, still staring. He hated Laurent, he reminded himself. He hated Laurent and he wanted, more than anything, to see him come undone under his hands and body, mad with arousal and sobbing with relief. “I forgot.”

The look Laurent gave him would have unnerved Damen at the beginning of the night. Now he took it in stride.

“I thought the Council would call for you soon,” said Damen. “Has it been half an hour yet, do you think?”

“I told you to come and fuck me,” said Laurent, as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “Let’s not pretend you haven’t wanted to since the first time you laid eyes on me.”

The first time Damen had laid eyes on Laurent, he’d thought he was as pretty as one of those venomous coloured reptiles that lived in the Patran swamps, toxic to the touch. He snorted. “You’re overestimating your charms, Your Highness.”

An idea took shape in his mind. It was reckless; it was dangerous and detrimental. He should do as Laurent asked him, fuck him hard over the footboard, leave the print of his fingers over his hips. He remembered Ancel in the gardens – the sense of impotence and burning humiliation; but before that, Ancel’s angling for Laurent’s attention, the way he’d tried to play up the prospect of his own pain for Laurent’s pleasure.

Damen thought: maybe Ancel had been right. Maybe Laurent enjoyed pain if he was on the receiving end of it. He should take Laurent like the brute they all saw him as, give him what he wanted and wait for the next occasion to escape.

He did none of that. Instead he sat himself down on the bed – sprawled, even. His cock, fully hard, was jutting out from between his thighs and he saw Laurent look, and try not to.

He met Laurent’s eyes.

“I’m not fucking you over that thing.”

He could read the surprise in the twitch of Laurent’s lips, the little frown of his brow. Then Laurent arched one eyebrow, straightening himself up to full posture. Even bared and aroused, something about him suggested he belonged on parade grounds.

“I don’t remember asking for your opinion on the matter.”

“That’d be more convincing,” said Damen. “If your legs weren’t shaking.”

Laurent’s skin, tinged with exertion and arousal, turned bright pink.

“That’s none–”

“I’m not coming to you,” said Damen. From Laurent’s face, it was clear he was not interrupted often, or at all. Damen would pay for this; probably, later. For now, he pressed on.

“If you want this so much, you can come over here and take it. I won’t have you bending over, turning your head away, and pretending the barbarian savage fucked you and you weren’t asking for it like a slave on First Night.”

Laurent’s eyes narrowed. Damen had gauged – correctly, he knew now – Laurent to be the kind of petulant, overindulged young man who was most reliably pushed towards a course of action by telling him he could not do it.

“I should have you flogged,” said Laurent, and Damen stiffened. “For your presumption. Only one of us is a slave.”

“Or,” said Damen. “You could stop having people do things for you, and do them yourself.”

He waited. Damen stared, and Laurent looked back.

“I suppose you’d like me to come sit on your lap,” Laurent said. “Something like that?”

The words evoked an impossible image. Damen felt his whole body react, from the hitch in his breath to the twitch of his cock over his thigh. Laurent made a low, scornful sound in his throat.

“Were you picturing it?” Laurent asked. He’d turned his body away, breaking eye contact – to retrieve the oil Damen had left, forgotten, on the carpet. He tossed Damen the jar.

“Open that,” said Laurent, and then, in a completely different voice. “What was I doing in your little fantasy?”

Laurent did, indeed, come to sit on his lap, which made Damen freeze from surprise and the sheer astonishment of feeling Laurent’s body plastered against his own. Laurent’s cock was hot against his belly, and Laurent’s lips were close enough that all he could just move his neck the slightest amount and they would be kissing.

He did not kiss Laurent. That would have been ridiculous. He showed Laurent the opened oil jar instead, and he did so wordlessly, understanding well enough that he would be better off keeping his mouth shut. Laurent wasn’t expecting an answer, Laurent just liked to hear himself talk. Laurent’s bedroom voice was either very mild or mildly vicious, much the same as his usual voice, and as reluctant as Damen was to admit it he liked hearing him talk as well.

Laurent left the jar where it was, opened on Damen’s palm, but dipped his hand inside it, bringing the slight scent of lavender to Damen’s nostrils. Then he drew himself up to his knees and reached behind himself, and Damen swallowed.

“I,” said Damen. He was eye level with Laurent’s throat, and the hollow of it was glistening with sweat. Laurent was be touching himself where Damen had just had his mouth. He would feel traces of Damen’s saliva on the tips of his fingers. “I could help with that.”

“I thought you’d made it quite clear I should do things myself. Really, it suits me just fine,” said Laurent. “I’d rather you didn’t touch me.”

Damen thought he’d liked it better earlier when Laurent had been trembling under his tongue and making little noises in his throat. “Can I do this?” He kissed the skin of Laurent’s neck. Then he did it again, to the side, right over the collarbone. And then again, under the jaw.

Laurent faltered. Then he folded into his touch, a reaction akin to writhing in a less controlled man as if overwhelmed by the sensation of it.

“You may,” said Laurent, a royal concession. It made Damen laugh at the impossibility of him, and it came out muffled against Laurent’s throat. He sucked in the skin between his teeth, and Laurent shivered.

Then Laurent’s hand slid between their bodies and grasped the root of his cock and Damen shivered, too.

“Did you think about me touching you?” Laurent’s thumb, wet with oil, brushed against the underside. Laurent’s deft fingers made their way lower, cupping the sac.

Damen drew in a sharp breath between his teeth.

“Good or bad?”

Laurent applied pressure with the tips of his fingers and the palm of his hand, every touch light and deliberate. “Ah,” he said, having made his discovery. “You like that.”

He then slid his hand lower still, where Damen had only rarely been touched. Damen tensed at that, thinking Laurent might go even further – expecting that surely he wouldn’t, or maybe he would, and asking himself what he would do if he did – but Laurent did nothing of the sort, merely pressed down with the pad of his finger to the thin skin, seemingly satisfied in the way his touches made Damen’s muscles tremble, made Damen’s chest shudder against Laurent’s abdomen, Damen’s breath hitch over Laurent’s chest.

Laurent’s mouth was somewhere above Damen’s ear, breath brushing Damen’s hair. “Do you touch yourself when you’re chained up?” Laurent’s voice, soft as a whisper, surrounded him. “Do you think of me?”

As he had been well and fully hard for quite a while now, and Laurent wasn’t the giving kind, it seemed to Damen that Laurent’s attention had no purpose besides making him squirm, perhaps to regain some small advantage. He drew back some, so he could get a better look at Laurent’s face, and found him low-lidded and intent, his lips half-open.

Damen wanted to touch. His hands, he realized, were still clutching the jar and the lid respectively; he closed it and threw it a measure away on the bed. Laurent’s own hand, the one that wasn’t trailing paths along the veins on Damen’s cock, was clutching the bedding, fist closed so tightly that the knuckles had gone bloodless. He wanted to put his hand over Laurent’s, feel all that clenched tension for himself.

“I told you to keep your hands to yourself,” said Laurent, who was not following his own advice. He then seemed to decide he’d had enough of Damen squirming – and it truly hadn’t been very long at all, although it had felt like more – because he shifted in Damen’s lap and, in one long fluid motion, sank down on Damen’s cock.

Damen made a noise, something loud and hopeless. He felt Laurent tremble against him, Laurent’s warmth around him, Laurent’s soft noises in the air between them. Laurent’s eyes had closed, his golden lashes fluttering. He’d bit down on his lip, hard enough to leave a pale mark. Laurent’s throat was reddened from Damen’s mouth, bruises blossoming like lavender buds in the fields of Chasteigne.

They remained like this, still, and the room fell quiet. Then Laurent drew himself up, excruciatingly slow and unbelievably tight. He’d stretched himself just barely enough to take it, and Damen felt an unexpected spike of concern at the realization, but Laurent’s movements were steady and sure, and when he opened his eyes and looked down at him all of Damen’s words died in his throat.

He found himself thrusting up to match Laurent’s pace, which was erratic and unpredictable. It would start slow and methodic, an extension of the discipline he’d somehow come to associate with Laurent, but then dissolved into clumsy, jerky motions that reminded Damen of his own adolescent fumbling. He remembered the one time he’d tasted the pleasure drug running through Laurent’s body. He knew the arousal in Laurent’s veins must feel like agony by now; he would be hyperaware of his own body, of Damen inside him, of the frantic beat of his heart.

“Can I touch you?” He hadn’t meant to, but he’d spoken regardless. He looked Laurent in the eye and saw distaste battling with want. Whatever revulsion Laurent felt at the idea of Damen’s hands on his body, it must be a distant waning thing compared to the need burning through him.

He looked at Laurent, and he looked at Laurent looking at him, and then Laurent said as if it cost him to speak. “Where?”

“Your back,” said Damen, who wanted to trail his hands across the smooth planes of Laurent’s skin, feel the flex of muscles under his palm. “Your cock. I want to make you come.”

That made Laurent still above him. His mouth fell open, just barely, and his face blushed more than it had all night. When he spoke, however, he’d recovered his semblance of perfect control.

“You hated me just this evening.”

“I hate you now,” said Damen, and told himself it was still true.

Laurent looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Alright,” he said, and then he moved again, making an obvious effort to keep to some pretence of rhythm.

It took a while for Damen’s brain to register the words, but when it did he found himself doing exactly as he’d described, tracing the curve of Laurent’s spine with the length of his fingers and his other hand palming Laurent’s cock, heavy and leaking.

The feeling of it – Laurent’s arousal in his hand and Laurent’s tightness around him – almost had him overcome. Instead he mustered all his self-control and applied himself to the task at hand. Laurent, he learned, liked a loose grip, and circular twists of the wrist, and the swipe of a thumb on the underside of the head. He preferred a slow, steady tempo that was far from the way he was writhing in Damen’s lap, lust-addled and shaking, his hair fully damp.

It occurred to Damen, belatedly, that possibly he should have done as Laurent had asked earlier and fucked him on his stomach, so as to spare him the effort to balance coordination with drug-fuelled want, but he had been annoyed at Laurent’s dismissive attitude and arrogant manner; he’d wanted him to work for it. And, he could admit it now, he’d wanted to look at Laurent in the face as he came. Now, joined together as they were, their breaths mingling, he thought that perhaps he might say it out loud.

“I want to watch you come,” he said, and Laurent shuddered. Damen dared the faint press of a nail over the sensitive slit, then swiped across it with his thumb. He lapped at the hollow of Laurent’s throat.

He said it again. “I want to see you come.” He tasted the salt of Laurent’s skin, saw something in Laurent’s eyes akin to wonder. Then he felt the pulsing of Laurent’s cock in his hand and the hot spill of Laurent’s seed on his fingers, and he watched as Laurent’s jaw relaxed and his head swayed to the side in abandon.

Laurent’s gaze, when he put it back on him, was full with something Damen couldn’t describe. The silence was heavy, expectant, as if something had fundamentally changed.

Then Laurent said, “I think you had best flip us over. I don’t think I can move now.”

“You weren’t doing a very good job of it earlier, either,” said Damen, then paused.

Laurent’s cheeks had gone pink, again, and he caught himself thinking he liked the look of it, and that he should try his best to make Laurent flush as often as he could – until he remembered his situation all over again, and that he should count himself lucky if Laurent didn’t have him executed first thing in the morning. But Laurent in bed was an entirely different creature than Laurent out of it; they may look the same, and talk the same, and yet it seemed impossible to reconcile the two.

Laurent’s come was cooling on his skin; Laurent had rolled off him and onto the bed, laying much as he had earlier when he’d cajoled Damen into staying, on the far side of this monumental moment. It felt like hours ago.

“Can you lift your legs?”

“I can lift my legs, yes. I can also move my arms,” said Laurent. “And, occasionally, I can even turn my head if I really need to.”

They had begun what felt like hours ago. Laurent may have just come but Damen had not, and he already had little patience for Laurent’s remarks to begin with. He took hold of Laurent’s ankles with each of his hands and pushed upwards.

Immediately after he’d done so he remembered Laurent chiding him about touch, but Laurent did not seem to have any objections this time around. He went easily, glancing at Damen with a look of faint amusement and a good approximation of his usual composure. He let Damen’s hands slide up to his knees, folding his legs over Damen’s shoulders.

From this angle, he could see everything. It was intoxicating; Laurent naked and spread out for his perusal – his hole reddened, his cock spent, all that unblemished skin on display and Laurent eyeing him with careful self-consciousness.

When he entered him it was smooth and familiar, and the feeling of it was not quite as overwhelming as it had been the first time they had come together. This was more like the couplings Damen was used to, and he had to bite on his tongue to refrain himself from speaking, as he usually would, making reassurances, seeking approval, saying how good it felt and how he couldn’t stop, needed it, needed him.

He had one hand on Laurent’s thigh, tracing aimless circles into the skin. He was breathing harder now, in time with the pulse of arousal coiled deep in his body. His world had narrowed down to pointed pleasure and the sounds of skin on skin, Laurent’s clenched heat and Laurent’s eyes, impossibly blue, bearing into his own.

Damen said, “I’m.”

Laurent took hold of Damen’s hand at the wrist, the sudden intimacy of the gesture more acute than everything else they’d done tonight, and closed his fingers over the gold of Damen’s cuff. Most times Damen found it deceptively easy to forget he wore it; now he was suddenly hyper-aware of it.

He watched as Laurent brought his hand – his right hand, the hand he’d touched Laurent’s cock with, the hand that had made him come – up to Laurent’s face, in the space between them. The gesture brought him closer, changing their angle to something deeper, and Laurent gave a long, slow exhale. He held Damen’s gaze, and Damen couldn’t look away.

Then, deliberately, he brought Damen’s hand to his mouth. Damen’s thumb and index fingers, and the space between them were stained with Laurent’s come. Laurent’s tongue, red and wet, lapped at the soft skin there with studied resolve, and Damen knew he wouldn’t forget the sight of him for as long as he lived. He waited, heartbeat booming in his ears, for what Laurent would do next.

When Laurent slid Damen’s thumb in his mouth and sucked, Damen closed his eyes and threw his head back, groaning. It was too much. The suction, the touch, the flicker of Laurent’s tongue and the warmth of Laurent’s mouth on his hand, just like the warmth of Laurent around his cock. He couldn’t hold it anymore and so he came, inside Laurent, and when he opened his eyes Laurent was still holding Damen’s hand in his, and looked at him from under his lashes and said, “Don’t get any ideas.”

Laurent, Damen saw, had grown half hard again. He sympathized.

“Should I,” said Damen. “Help with that?”

Laurent followed Damen’s eyes down to his own body as if he’d just realized. “No,” he said, letting go of Damen’s hand and disentangling their bodies. As he slipped out from inside Laurent Damen felt, faintly, a sense of loss.

“You know, it’ll be hours before the drug wears off.” Damen didn’t know what he was saying. Was he offering to bring Laurent off again? With his fingers, or his mouth – if he put his mouth on him, he knew now with absolute certainty, Laurent would blush.

“It’s manageable, now,” said Laurent, who clearly had some warped notions about pleasure and denial.

He saw Laurent shuffling around to some purpose – probably to go wash every last trace of Damen’s touch from his body, or something just as excessive – and he let himself fall face down on the bedding, completely spent, thinking that it would be moments before Laurent kicked him out, and return him to the gilded little room where he spent his days chained to the floor.

He should have escaped.

“If you leave now you will be caught and executed,” said Laurent from somewhere behind him, having apparently decided that Damen deserved no respite at all. “It would also weaken my standing considerably. It is up to you to decide if one is worth the other.”

“In any case,” said Laurent. “Come and help me dress.”

That got Damen to react; he turned around and saw that Laurent’s hair had been smoothed back in place and Laurent was wearing trousers, undershirt and an open shirt, and carried on his arm what had to be one of his most obnoxious jackets.

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Quite. I suspect my uncle is about to go wake the Council.” As he spoke Laurent threw the jacket in Damen’s direction, and began doing up the laces at his crotch – which reminded Damen all over again of Laurent’s continued predicament , and his odd ideas about it – and all the way up to his neck, neatly covering all traces that Damen’s lips and teeth and tongue had ever been there. It was all very efficient.

“The jacket,” Laurent reminded him, stepping closer. He acted as though Damen fucking him had been a brief inconvenience best left forgotten – not shameful, simply not memorable enough to talk about. It was an impressive show of pragmatism, even more so now that Damen had an inkling of the amount of doubt that laid behind Laurent’s formidable thought processes

The jacket, when Damen bothered with it, _was_ obnoxious: blue brocade, a lighter shade rather than the darker he usually favoured, threaded with gold, for Laurent’s banner and to flatter Laurent’s colourings. It was almost ostentatious, like everything within those chambers with the exception of Laurent himself.

It took Damen about fifteen minutes and three different attempts to close up the jacket, the second of which he’d bungled so badly that Laurent had turned to glare at him with a raised eyebrow and a pointed look that almost had Damen apologizing. When he was done Laurent looked at him for the longest time, and Damen remembered belatedly that he was still naked, covered in sweat and Laurent’s flaked come; but Laurent merely studied his face, as if trying to read something unknown behind Damen’s eyes and the lines on his brow.

“Stay here,” said Laurent, and Damen knew he meant his own bedroom, not the palace. It was clear in the air between them that he would not attempt to escape – not tonight, and not when he still sought answers.

“I’ll lock the door behind me.” It was the mark of how impossible the night had been that Laurent meant the words as some sort of reassurance – or as close to reassurance as Laurent was likely to offer – and Damen interpreted them as such. And then he said. “It’s a two-storey drop into the gardens if you’d like to try. Straight into the rose bushes.”

Laurent gave another of those long, attentive looks. “Perhaps,” he said. “You might be better off taking your chances with me.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, dear sassafrasx, thank you for giving me the opportunity to write for this fandom :) Happy new year!
> 
> ETA - story now has a very loose Canon Divergence sort of sequel [here ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13826244) | I'm on [tumblr](https://liesmyth.tumblr.com).


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